A blond boy, about Alaric’s age, strolled into the clearing. He was dressed in lavish silks, adorned with fine ornaments, and wore an arrogant smile as if it were another part of his attire. "Well, well. If it isn't the peasant warrior." "Haha, look at that pathetic, rusty sword. A strong gust of wind might snap it in two." The two boys trailing behind the blond youth echoed his sentiments, their voices dripping with mockery. It had been this way since the journey began. The three of them had singled Alaric out, relentlessly picking on him. In a traveling party composed of nobility, he was the sole commoner. They despised him for it, for the very idea that someone of his station would dare to become a Magus. Everyone knew the path of a Magus was reserved for those of noble birth. Alaric’s chance was a fluke, a gift from a wandering Magus who had passed through his village years ago and confirmed he had an aptitude for magic. For a commoner to even attempt such a journey was almost unheard of. It wasn't just a matter of talent; it required resources, wealth, and connections that a peasant could never possess. Alaric gritted his teeth as the blond youth approached. Joric Palmer, son of a Duke from the Kingdom of Corvania. His high birth had bred a natural contempt for everyone he deemed beneath him, and Alaric was at the very bottom of that list. Until now, Alaric had swallowed their insults, enduring the humiliation in silence to avoid trouble. But the image of the black-armored Magus holding his own against a thousand enemies had lit a fire in him. For the first time, Alaric decided he would not back down. Besides, they were a long way from the Kingdom of Corvania. Joric’s influence was meaningless here. Alaric met his gaze directly. "What do you want?" Joric paused, taken aback. "Oh? So the peasant can speak after all." "Hey, what's with that look?" "You dare talk back to Joric?" The two lackeys glared, eager to curry favor with their leader. Alaric ignored them, his eyes locked on Joric. "If you have no business with me, then leave. And don't bother me again." Joric was stunned for a moment, wondering what could have possessed this boy to suddenly find a spine. The shock quickly curdled into fury. "You low-life," he growled. "How dare you speak to me like that?" "Joric, let us handle this bastard. We'll teach him his place." The two lackeys advanced on Alaric, their intentions clear. One of them lunged forward, swinging a clumsy fist. Alaric sidestepped with calm precision, the punch sailing harmlessly past his head. Before the boy could recover, Alaric drove his own fist into his face. The attack was so swift, so unexpected, that his attacker had no time to react. He had never imagined Alaric would have the nerve to fight back. The blow landed squarely on the boy’s nose with a sickening crunch. He collapsed to the ground, screaming. "Arghh! My nose… it's broken!" He stared up at Alaric, his eyes burning with hatred. "You motherf—" Alaric brought his boot down on the boy's face, silencing him. The second lackey, who had been moving to circle him, froze in his tracks, his face a mask of pure shock. Even Joric stood dumbfounded. "Come on. What are you waiting for?" Alaric looked at the remaining boy with a smirk. A thrill ran through him; putting a bully in his place felt good. "Huh? Uh… uh… Ahhh!" The boy stammered, unable to form a coherent response. He let out a yelp of terror, turned, and scrambled back toward the campsite as fast as his legs could carry him. "You coward, get back here!" Joric roared, but his command only made the boy flee faster. "Son of a bitch!" Joric cursed. He turned back just in time to see Alaric crouching over the unconscious boy, picking up a leather pouch from his belt. "You thief! Stop what you're doing!" Alaric ignored him, untying the pouch and peering inside. He let out a low whistle. It was filled with gold coins, more money than he had ever managed to save in his entire life back in the Kingdom of Corvania. He looked up at Joric and held out his hand. "Your money pouch. Hand it over." "You!" Joric was speechless. This peasant was trying to extort him, the son of a Duke? The audacity was unthinkable. Blinded by rage, he charged at Alaric. "You bastard, I'll kill you! How dare you—" Alaric knocked him out with a single, clean punch to the jaw. He knelt and retrieved the pouch from Joric’s belt. This one was made of fine silk and was twice as heavy as the first. Feeling the satisfying weight in his hand, Alaric smiled. "Consider this a fine for all the bullying." He got to his feet and walked toward the distant campfire, a hearty laugh escaping his lips. The financial worries that had plagued him for so long were suddenly gone. He was, naturally, in an excellent mood. He wasn't worried about retaliation. The Kingdom of Corvania was far away, and the mercenaries guarding their party wouldn't bother intervening in a squabble between children. Alaric joined the line where a mercenary was distributing food. A few minutes later, he took his portion—a chunk of bread and a bowl of meat stew—and found a patch of grass away from the main camp to eat. As he ate, his mind drifted back to the grand battle he had witnessed, and to the mysterious white space he had visited. He subconsciously rubbed his forehead, right where the Lily insignia had vanished. What was that place? he wondered, recalling the infinite motes of light that filled the void. He had no idea how to get back there. He finished his meal without really tasting it, then lay back on the grass, gazing up at the myriad stars scattered across the night sky. The image of the black-armored Magus filled his mind, and a deep yearning took root in his heart. I wonder if I'll ever be that powerful… The scene of the battle replayed in his head, a vivid, repeating dream, and slowly, Alaric drifted into a deep slumber. In a nearby carriage, a man in an olive-colored cloak sat by the window, reading a worn, ancient-looking book. He suddenly raised his head, his bright blue eyes fixed on the sleeping form of Alaric. The man’s gaze shifted from the boy to the bulging money pouches at his side. A moment later, his attention swept over the clearing and settled on the two unconscious figures lying in the shadows of the woods. His eyes narrowed slightly. In the end, he simply sighed and gave his head the slightest of shakes.

Chapter 4: Of Common Blood